Counting Pennies

A coolness hangs in the air over Frog Pond Holler this morning, accompanied by the warm, spring sun. The two will spend the day in a gentle tug-o-war, the warmth of the sun over taking the gentle breezes, then giving in to let the nippy gusts take the stage.

I love spring.

~ ♥ ~

I had to scramble some money into my "other" checking account yesterday. I've been broke as heck this week to begin with, then yesterday I realized my domain fees were due on both my blogs and I'd forgotten they were set up to come out of my old business account, which had about $2 in it.

I am not one of those innerwebby business success stories.

Anywho...

I spent my lunch break digging through my unfiled snail mail until I found a $3 Ebates check and a $3 rebate from Ayla's heartworm pills. I still needed about $13, but I had $14 left in my regular checking. When all was said and done, rebates, ebates and a check, I finished out with a dollar in my regular checking and $0 in the other. Technically, I was a buck ahead of the game.

Thank the Lord today is payday.

Say what you want about the time it takes to fill out rebate forms and clip coupons, but it comes in handy. This week I used a coupon for a free 20lb bag of dry dog food and another for four free cans of  food from Pedigree. It's a special offer for people adopting a pound pup, which I thought was coolies. I got like.. $20 bucks worth of dog food for free.

Jolene (my truck) will be happy it's payday as well. She's a big ol' girl with a healthy appetite and she's getting kinda hungry. She could really use two new tires too, but I'm trying not to think about it too much and keeping my fingers crossed as I bebop on down the highway.

~ ♥ ~

I suppose I should get to back to the stacks of crap piled up on my desk. It's the last day of  the month and everyone's in a tizzy. If I can knock these orders out of the way, I'm thinking about taking off early. Me and The Amazon have to make a run to Lowe's to take those pipes back that Ma had Aunt Moses dump in our front yard, next to Mahala's Curative Pool of Natural Healing. We've got a bookcase from Wallyworld that has to go back too, one of the shelves was busted. I've been putting it off, the sumbitch is heavy as hell.

At least I'll get a head start on the weekend.

Ya'll have a booty kickin', finger lickin' good Friday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!

I Could End Up Fired

The head nut CEO visited The Asylum yesterday. We knew he was coming sometime this week, but of course I forgot about it and showed up for work in a hoodie and wearing flip-flips.

Way to go Mahala!

Luckily, he didn't make it to our plant until after lunch, so I was able to run home and change. He always goes around to everyone's office and makes small talk on his way down the hall and it's usually a pretty painless event.

Well...there was that one time I thought he'd left, but he came back in the door catching me with a lime green post-it note stuck to my forehead with "REJECT" printed across it in big red letters. It took a while for me to live that one down.

Late yesterday afternoon, the CEO, Bossman and the GM all piled up in Bossman's office to see how far up the CEO's ass Bossman's nose would go  review sales numbers.I tried to tune them out, listening to the radio, finding it almost painful to hear Bossman's pathetic attempts to kiss up. When it was time to go home, I turned everything off, then overheard the CEO saying, "It got quiet, it must be time to go home."

Bossman's reply, "Oh yeah," snickering like a big snot, "she's ready to go at five o'clock. She's not sticking around." 

*blink*

This.. from the sorry excuse for a man who STANDS OVER ME every FLIPPEN FRIDAY at 4:30, asking me if I'm done yet so that he and PG can get out of here early. This.. when I've been rearranging my personal schedule to allow me to work through lunches to get stuff caught up, stuff he should have been helping me with all along.

That fudgin' little bald headed son of a biscuit eater. Oh holy hell on wheels I was am peeved. The nerve.

This.. from the little jerkalicious little hiney hole that will suddenly just appear at my cage office doorway with his dorky little golf hat and his lunch box to announce that he's going to be out of the office for awhile, with no other explanation as he just LEAVES, coming back two hours later wreaking of alcohol.

This Friday, if I don't call in a vacation day, without any advance notice, my ass is sitting here until after five o'clock. He and PG have to stay, they have to lock up. When they make their little smarty britches remarks about wanting to get out of here, I'll tell them I need to make sure no one has any reason to go tell the CEO that I'm too anxious to run out the door at five o'clock.

He's such a lying little buttmunch.

Anywho...

It's Humpday ya'll. Hump it like you mean it, grunt if you have to. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Nick Jr. Boost - a place where children can learn with their favorite Nick Jr. characters!

When Things Go Boom!

It was some time around noon yesterday when Ma came shuffling down the hall towards my bedroom calling my name. I squeezed my eyes closed, pretending to be in a deep sleep, because I'm a horrible daughter, but she didn't fall for it.

"Mahala! Did you hear the scanner??"

Sammy and Yoda both growled towards my door. Ma never comes that far down the hall, I guess they weren't expecting it to be her.

"No, I can't hear it back here," I answered.

"There was an explosion in town! Have you talked to T.A.? A propane tank blew up down there at the sandwich shop. You'd better call her!"

I groped around for my phone and found a text from T.A. saying, "I didn't do it, but apparently something 'sploded over at Ken's beer stop/tanning bed/pool hall/laundromat/convenience store." Once I established that no one was hurt, I went back to sleep. I was beat, T.A. had gotten home from Atlanta sometime in the middle of the night and I hadn't gone back to sleep until the wee-wee hours of the morning.

When T.A. came in from work, she filled me in on the details. Ken's uses propane to power the clothes dryers in the laundromat and one of them caught on fire. The resulting mini-blast had enough force to blow the windows out of the little town grocery store, which is right next door to the Pump N' Go. The gas station is surrounded by glass on three sides. If I allow myself to think about what could have happened, I get the heebie jeebies.

~ ♥ ~

T.A. had some guy come over after work yesterday to look at the sewer line clusterfuck that is our front yard. I have no idea who he is, I just know he works for the guy who owns all the heavy equipment in town that everyone hires to clear land. I felt selfish satisfaction when he told T.A. that the pipe Ma had Aunt Moses buy and pile up in our yard is the wrong grade for a sewer line. He's supposedly going to come by this weekend to work on it. I'll believe it when I see it.

~ ♥ ~

I was late for work this morning, my hair is a horrid mess, no make up and my muscles and joints are all kittywampus. Feels like a Monday to me. Once my drugs kick in, I'm going to hit the ground limping along like Qwazimodo running.

Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!

Shop for Mom & Get 10% Off at BareNecessities.com. Exclusions apply, ends 05.09.10

Of Cemeteries and Condoms

The Amazon left last night with her old friend, The Gritlett, taking off in a rental car across the mountain and through the woods to Atlanta to see some band they're all gaga over.

That means I can run around the house in various stages of undress until Saturday night. Well, I do it whether she's there or not, but now I don't have to worry about T.A. catching a glimpse of one thing or another and running down the hall screaming, "THERAPY!! OMG I NEED THERAPY!! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE NAKED????"

And? I get to touch the t.v. remote. Awesomesauce.

As she packed for her trip, she asked me to list things she'd need, to make sure she didn't forget anything.

"When I used to pack for weekend adventures to go running around behind some band, I think my list was a little different from yours," I explained.

"Okay, not what you needed, what I need."

I sighed and without looking up from my netbook said, "Booze? Condoms?"

"Mama.. seriously. Well.. there could be booze after the concert.." she added.

"Condoms?"

T.A. gave me the gawd awfullest go-to-hell look you've ever seen. "I won't be needing any condoms."

"If there's booze, you'd better take condoms," I said, drawing on my vague memories of being twenty-four.

Again, I got the look. "Be serious, please? I don't need to take .. those."

"Mmmm hmmm. That's what I thought too, and yet.. here you are." 

I think there was some heavy sighing and eye rolling after that. I can't be sure, I was too busy giggling.

~ ♥ ~

Lulu invited me to go on an adventure with her after work last night. She and her mama were going up to the isolated mountain community, way back up in the hills where our family trees criss, cross and intermingle. They make a trip up there every spring to clean off their place card thingies. At the cemetery. Where they've got all their plots, their children's and their spouse's all picked out and waiting for them.

*shiver*


"It's such a pretty little cemetery, I just feel at home there," she said.

"Lulu.. you're so morbid."

"It's so peaceful,"she added.

"Oh. My. Gawd. You sound like you can't wait to get there. YOU'LL BE DEAD. In the GROUND. Doesn't it creep you out just a little to spend your evening cleaning grass clippings off a marker for your child's grave?"

"Why no. Why would it? You're just silly Mahala," she laughed.

She knows I can't stand it when she talks about stuff like that. She used to tell me stories she'd gotten from her cousin who used to work at a funeral home, going into gory detail about what they did with your body. It still gives me the herky jerks.

I love Lulu, but she sometimes she's a weirdo.

~ ♥ ~

It's Friday ya'll... and thank the Lord. It's just me and Ma back at the trailer until tomorrow night and while there is a crap load of miscellaneous bull hockey that needs to be done, I'm not making any plans. If I git 'er done, great. If I don't.. well.. it's not going anywhere.

Ya'll have a great one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Get in on the Real Deal from giggle - special offers and fabulous finds that are too good to last. These deals are first come, first served, so get yours while you can!

Sometimes Life is Too Much

It's not even 9 a.m. yet, I've already gotten in an argument with a customer and I have a paper cut. It can only get better from here, right?

As for the argument, if your order isn't shipping on time because your account is on credit hold, don't bitch at me, pay your feckin' bills.

Sheesh.

Speaking of fights, there was a doozy down at the sports bar Saturday night. Thelma's bubbahubby, the town cop, was awakened at the wee hours of the morning by a drunken female on the phone. (We don't bother with 911, the county never shows up. There's always someone in the crowd with Thelma's bubbahubby's cellphone number.)

"Hey.. *giggle*.. we was all down here at the bar and some Marines got to fighting with some guy."

"Who is this?" Mr. Supercop asked.

"It's ME silly! *giggle* So um.. it looks like his jawbone is sticking out in his mouth. Do you think we need to call the 9-1-1?"

"Who's jawbone? YES call an ambulance, I'm on my way."

When he got there, he found Shay, Teensy's son, with his jaw hanging and bone sticking out where it shouldn't. The original story was that he got his butt kicked by five Marines for no reason at all. After some digging and questioning of witnesses, in various stages of intoxication, it was determined that it was actually three Marines who jumped Shay after he got to spouting off with that smart mouth of his.

I feel bad for Teensy. She and her second bubbahubby used to work here at The Asylum, until he decided he could make more money doing construction which led to his falling from some scaffolding while working at the hospital over in Big City. I forget how many bones he broke, I remember that it messed his face up pretty bad and he had to have some plastic surgery. This was all right after Teensy and him had bought a brand new double wide, she'd had a baby (one of those middle age surprise package pregnancies) and quit her job. Teensy didn't get upset though, she just kept praying through it all.

When Teensy's mama died though, something snapped. They'd lived next door to each other all her adult life and her mama's death came sudden. Something in Teensy wasn't the same after that. She went from being one of the town's most outspoken holy rollers to it's biggest drug addict. Some said it was prescription drugs she got from the clinic to help deal with everything, others said she was a crack head.

I just know she was a mess.

About a year after her mama died, Teensy's bubbahubby was sent to prison for molesting his niece. With two little girls of her own, that was more than she could handle.

That was about two years ago. I've seen her ex around town, but she's moved on, often spotted at the pool hall down at the state line, hanging all over some tourist, half lit and comfortably numb. I don't blame her. I'd be drunk too. And while I have sympathy for her son, who's had surgery to put his face back together and is home with his jaw wired shut, it's Teensy I'm worried about.

A person can only take so much.

*sigh*

Ya'll have a good one. I'm going to go shuffle papers for a while, listen to some Seether and lose myself in the music.

And count my blessings.

Later Taters.

Save $15 when you buy 2 or more Mother's Day gifts! enter code MDAY9 at checkout

Two Very Nice Gentlemen

For the past few days, Lulu's been telling me about her new neighbors down the river. Two gentlemen recently moved to a house just up the road on the main drag next to the Baptist church who are rumored to be "that way" .. her words, not mine.. but seem very nice. Lulu has pointed out on several occasions that they keep their property well manicured and beautified, important qualities for any landowner in sight of Lulu's place, if they're to meet with her approval.

I'm not sayin' she's anal and nitpicky or anything...

She damn near curls up in the fetal position and weeps whenever I mention the Curative Pool of Natural Healing we've got cookin' in our front yard, resulting from the sewage blockage.

Anywho...

About a week ago she noticed water coming up from the ground near the edge of their property and flowing down across the road to the river. It was obvious to everyone that drove by that there was a break in the water line where it went into their property.

Everyone except the two very nice gentlemen.

They were spotted a few days ago taking turns shoveling through the puddle that was forming at the edge of their property. All the neighbors figured they knew what they were doing, taking the business of repairing the leak in to their own hands, having heard of the town's reputation for slacking on the job when it came to caring for the water issues of it's residents.

But then?

Then they lined the large hole with rocks, allowed it to fill with water and added a couple of goldfish. Apparently the two very nice gentlemen thought they'd hit a natural spring. Yesterday, the goldfish were seen being washed across the asphalt towards the river. I'm going to pretend they made it, lest I lie awake at night and imagine them panting on the pavement. They never stood a chance in the pool to begin with. Our water has so much chlorine in it, you can smell it from a mile away.

Lulu's new neighbors will figure things out when they get their water bill in the next few days. Hopefully they'll have more luck dealing with the town than I have.

I'd better get back to work.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!!

Shockwave UNLIMITED, the premium service of Shockwave.com, offers members unlimited access to hundreds of online games and downloads on a subscription basis.

Southern Fried Stings

When The Amazon was away at college, she made some great friends that I know she'll share a lifelong relationship with. Since moving back here to the holler, she's mentions them from time to time, a wistfulness in her voice that makes me think that she misses that big city school just a smidge.

One of her school buds she mentions often is England, the blossoming actress. Over the past few years, she's kept me posted on her latest acting gigs, mostly B horror flicks and indie films. But now? England has made the big time.

Well, sort of.

England is part of "The Jay Team" on TruTv's new show Southern Fried Stings. I hesitate to call it a "reality" show, I'll just let you reserve your own judgement on that.

Doesn't she look hot taking down this perp? It's actually Jay, but still, she looks like she's kickin' bootay to me.

On Southern Fried Stings, the Jay Team is called out when you've got a problem to solve but don't want to involve actual law enforcement.

I think that makes them a vigilante group. I'm a little afraid.

Check them out on Monday nights on TruTv at 10pm and you can say, "Hey! I read the blog of somebody who's kid went to school with that girl!" and people will be impressed with your awesomeness.

I promise.

Later Taters!

Full Figure Lingerie at Fredericks.com

It Tried to Eat me

I'm runnin' on about five hours sleep, so strap yourselves in and hold on tight. We may be in for a bumpy ride.

I'm not feeling too peachy today, not just due to the lack of sleep, but my ankles are like California redwoods, my nose is bleeding (it's allergies.. this fresh mountain air is killing me) Aunt Flo is playing hide and seek, I'm swelled up like like the blue girl from Willie Wonka and my hair looks like goose caca.

Thank God it's Friday.

~ ♥ ~

I got stuck in Ayla's doghouse this morning.  Well.. not stuck.. exactly.

She's not been eating, she's teething and her gums are swollen. They hurt me just to look at them. I ran out of the super squishy chewy puppy food, so she's had to eat the regular crunchy food for a day or two until I can get to Wally World (I'm a bad furbaby mommy) and she's barely eaten. Last night she did the high pitched puppy bark, whined, flipped and flopped in her sleep, I felt so bad for her.

This morning I remembered that I had some canned dog food in the cabinet, a freebie of a high dollar brand I scored with a coupon. I don't feed canned dog food for a variety of reasons, but if I get a free can, I take it.

I carried the canned food out to her doghouse, Sammy and Yoda trailing behind me in hopes that they'd get a taste and reached inside for her bowl. It's a big house T.A. built from a kit for Ozzy, but we lost him before he ever got to try it out. Of course Ayla had pushed the bowl way back in the corner where I couldn't reach, though I tried, already dressed for work and in hopes of not getting dirty.

I had already opened the can, because sometimes I'm not too bright, and Ayla having gotten a big whiff of it, lost her damn fool mind and tried to take me down.

She is not a small dog. Huskies are bred to pull things in sub zero temperatures and Pyrenees are bred to protect flocks of goats and sheep from wolves, bears and like.. nuclear attack and the apocalypse and crap. So yeah.. you can see my dilemma.

Luckily, the doghouse roof opens up, giving easy access to the inside. Once I got my big butt wallered back out of the front, I stood and opened the roof, leaned in and tried to dump the canned food into her bowl. It would have been helpful if it had been loosely packed, stew-like food, but it was not.

A spoon would have been helpful as well.

Using the lid as a make-shift scoop, I dug the firmly packed food from its container, being careful that I didn't lop off a finger or slit my wrist.

I like to live dangerously.

I didn't notice Ayla had moved around behind me. She was overcome with beefy-aroma-induced temporary insanity and lost all sense of judgement, leading her to pounce on my butt, knocking the roof of the doghouse loose, forcing it to close swiftly on my backside, pushing me off balance and damned near face first into the bowl of dog food.

I'm pretty sure I offended every Bible thumping neighbor within a 20 mile radius with the stream of wordy-dirties that spewed forth from my mouth.

But then? I imagined how I must look, my butt hiked up in the air like a cat in heat, my entire upper half seemingly being eaten by the angry house. Then I got the giggles, which further complicated my attempts to escape.

I swear to (insert religious figure or spiritual being of your choice) all three dogs were lined up laughing at me. I'm just thankful Ma didn't happen to peek out the door. She would have called 911 or at least Aunt Moses to come over with her camera.

~ ♥ ~

I reckon I should stop fartin' around on the innerwebs and get to work. Bossman isn't in as chipper a mood as he was earlier this week and I've got crap piled up all over the place. I may work through lunch, it depends on whether I can get a mooburger from the campground store.

Ya'll be sure and stop by this weekend. One of The Amazon's college buddies has made it big as a reality show celebrity! We'll take a look at her new show.

In the meantime, ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!



Show Mom how much you care with fabulous fresh flowers from KaBloom.com

No Plumber's Crack Here

Let's check in and get caught up on everything around town, shall we?

Here at the Cubicle Asylum: One of the freight companies we use has hired a new sales rep. We always know when she's scheduled to come by, because PG (purchasing guy) wears aftershave and his assistant, Donald, wears his least holey britches. She's got that sweet little flirtatious laugh that turns their faces red and she's blonde and tiny.

I don't like her. She doesn't bring donuts. The old guy used to bring us a box of biscuits from Bojangles. Someone needs to explain the sales rep rules to her.

In other Asylum news.. Bossman has finally realized that I do a metric butt load of work around here and has started to take up some slack. Someone told him that it used to be two sales people and the sales manager, but that the old manager used to do part of the paperwork too. And now, it was just me. So he's slowly learning to do some of the easy stuff.

It is awesome and I am getting caught up.

Yaay.

Around Frog Pond Holler: I reckon the big rock slide up on I-40 has finally been cleared after months of bumper to bumper traffic being detoured through town. Yesterday, it was like someone flipped a switch. It went from cars, trucks and RVs for as for as the eye could see, to hardly any vehicles on the road at all. There's still traffic, foot traffic from hikers wandering down off the trail, but at least they stay out of the road... for the most part anyway.

I hope to get some pictures while all the redbuds and dogwoods are in bloom. Town looks sorta like a Thomas Kincade painting with all the flowering trees, right before the weather turns insanely hot and we all start bitching about under boob sweat and threatening to run over tourists in our pickup trucks.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer: It pains me to say this, but the sewage ordeal is still... stewing. Warmer temperatures have given our Curative Pool of Natural Healing a strong aroma, right by the front steps. Of course, there are now five huge lengths of pvc pipe laying over it, pipe that Ma honestly thought I was going to go out there and install.

Ain't no way in hell.

The latest I've heard is that the guy who came out last time is coming back, but he's busy now so we have to wait. Well what the hell is another month or two at this point?

*insert eye roll here*

There is hope (sort of) on the garden front. Aunt Moses was supposed to come down and till it out for me, but now Ma informs me that Aunt Moses has to drive the school bus and teach school, so she won't have time to do it.

I'm not even 100% sure Aunt Moses graduated from high school. She might be working as a substitute or an aide or something. Maybe she's doing lunchroom duty. Who knows? The way Ma gets messages all discomboobilated, there's no tellin'.

Anywho...

The plan is that Aunt Moses is going to bring the tiller down to the house and leave it and I can use it.

*blink*

I can't even walk through the house without breaking toesies, so this ought to be interesting, but I'm bound and determined. If I have to do it in shifts over several days to get it done, that's what I'll do. I'll just have to wait a day or two until my current FMF flare has time to settle it's little ass down.

Why does everything have to be so COMPLICATED?

I'll be so glad when Hidden Mahala finally makes me rich and famous.

Heh. That was sarcasm, in case you were wondering.

I guess I should get my bootay in gear. I've got papers to shuffle. Y'all have a humpalicious Humpday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Earn revenue from your website's traffic.

Chickens, Gypsy Wagons and Weapons of Mass Destruction

The sun is shining bright down on Frog Pond Holler today, but there's a slight nip in the air and a soft, gentle breeze rustling the tender spring leaves. Deep breaths, taking in the sweet aroma of new life, new beginnings and tender growth makes your toes tingle and your heart beat just a tiny bit faster.

It's that kind of morning.

I got some good news on Friday. I was at my desk here at the Cubicle Asylum, yelling across the wall to Lulu, who has an office.. with walls.. AND A DOOR.. biatch.. that I couldn't really do anything else with the dog lot until I found myself a chainsaw. When the creepy dirty old man pervert GM overhead me, he summoned me back to his office.

I figured he was either going to crack a joke about me wallering a chainsaw around up on the bank behind my house or reprimand me for yelling up and down the hall, but no. It was my lucky day. He has a small chainsaw he wants to sell. I was a little creeped out when I asked him how much he wanted for it and he said, "I'll sell it to you cheap, but it'll cost ya."

*wink wink*

He's such a perv.

I have to wait for Andy, Lulu's bubbahubby, to recover from back surgery. The GM is going to have Andy look at it because it's been sitting idle for a while.

With news of a new instrument of destruction on the horizon, my head was filled with dreams of hacking up bushes, trees and fallen lumber all over the property. After that, I can fence in more yard. I even started thinking about maybe building one of these:

Some of you already know, I have an irrational fear of chickens after being flogged by one of Granny's hens when I was just a small, round child. I was from the city, I didn't know it would piss the crotchedy old bird off if I chased one of her babies across the yard, scooping it up in my hand and rubbing the soft, yellow fuzz against my cheek.

But a chicken coup built to look like a Gypsy wagon? How can I resist?

Besides, I'm supposed to be growing as a person, facing my fears, taking life by the chin hairs and slinging it around.

Right?

Anywho...

Saturday, in between day dreams of fancy chickens with names like Miss Opal and Martha Gail, I printed out a flier to hang at the post office. I was going to put one up a the Pump N' Go too, but T.A. informed me that it would embarrass her to admit I was the person who'd hung it there.

Offspring. Go figure.

The flier said, "Do you have a tiller? Want to make some extra money? I have a small garden but no tiller. I'd like to hire someone for the job," followed by contact information, etc. Then? It was like Ma could hear my thoughts from the other end of the trailer and sent T.A. to tell me that Aunt Moses would be down on the following day to mow and she was bringing her tiller.

This was great news because our grass is up to my knees in spots. I need to clean out my tractor tire flower bed (you might be a redneck) but I'm afraid to walk through the yard to get to it. It's lookin' plumb snakey out there. Plus, I want to buy myself a new birdbath for Mother's Day, Wallyworld has one decorated with celtic symbols, a tiny one, just the right size. The makeshift leftover birdcage stand I've been using doesn't hold enough water.

But by this morning? The grass is still butthole deep and I've not seen hide nor hair of Aunt Moses or the tiller.

It's a good thing I saved that flier.

I reckon I should get it in gear. Bossman is in a decent mood for a change and I don't want to do anything to mess it up. We're gonna kick bootay this week ya'll.

Let's have a good one.

Later Taters!

Of Lesbians and Turkey Basters

My alarm went off at the butt crack of dawn today, but as I reached over to hit the snooze button, I was tackled by a very annoyed Pupzilla, her mouth inches from my face, barking like she'd lost her damned mind. I explained to her that it was customary to hit the snooze button at least twice before we considered getting up, but she was having none of it. She wallered all over me, flopped down, snuggled for a few seconds then sprang to her feet, pawing at my head with her gargantuan paws.

"Do you wanna go outside? Gotta pee?" I asked.

I swear, the look on her face said, "THANK GOD! Now could you hurry up please? C'mon, get up!"

When we got to the back door, after a slight detour to slobber all over the cat and make a run through Ma's room, she shot out of there like a bat out of  hell, doing the running squat.

If you've never seen a giant furbaby doing the running squat at the butt crack of dawn, you are truly missing out on one of life's most entertaining moments.

~ ♥ ~

Frog Pond Holler is all abuzz about the new owners down at the campground store. They've renovated the kitchen, which is great, but the decision to stop selling hot breakfast biscuits has everyone's bloomers in a wad. We were discussing it here at the Cubicle Asylum yesterday afternoon as I stood in the hallway, halfway between Thelma and Lulu's offices.

"It's them lesbians what took over down there that's doin' it," Thelma decided.

"What lesbians?" I asked.

"You know, them that's got that big ol' baby. The ones what went up north somewheres and got the insimer... insimi... "

"Oh.. you mean she got turkey bastered," I explained.

"Who? What are you talking about?" Lulu asked from across the hall.

"What'd she say?" Thelma asked.

"Lulu's wanting to know who we're talking about." 

"It's them lesbians what live down the river by your mama n' em Lulu," Thelma yelled.

Lulu looked at me and mouthed, "What?"

This inspired me to holler across the hall in a very unprofessional manner, "IT'S SOME LESBIANS THAT THELMA KNOWS, THEY GOT 'EM ONE OF THEM TURKEY BASTER BABIES. THEY LIVE BY YOUR MAMA N' EM!!"

Lulu cracked up. I thought she might wet her granny panties. Thelma yelled from her desk, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID.. I MEAN IT IS.. BUT I DON'T KNOW THEM!! I DON'T KEEP COMPANY WITH THAT SORT!!!!"

"OOOHHHHHH," I said. "SHE SAID SHE KNOWS 'EM BUT SHE DON'T WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW ABOUT IT," I hollered across the hall.

Thelma's face turned beet red. So did Lulu's, but it was because she was gasping for air, not because she had an intense desire to rip my head from my shoulders and use it for a game of basketball, as Thelma did.

It's way more fun to totally humiliate some people around here when they start showing their ignorance than it is to try to argue with them.

~ ♥ ~

I've put the word out around the holler that I'm willing to pay anyone with a tiller to come down and give my dirt a good stir. They can name their price. I'm determined to have a garden.

~ ♥ ~

I want to thank everyone who left comments yesterday. Your words warmed my heart. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I didn't have all ya'll to listen to my rambling and share my stories with.

TGIF ya'll. Have a bootay kicking weekend. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Swimsuits Are 25% Off (excluding swin separates) at JustMySize.com! This offer is valid April 8th through May 26th.

Keep On Rollin'

When I was around six or seven, we traveled to Frog Pond Holler in the family's red 1968 Sport Fury. I don't remember the purpose of the trip, whether to visit or to bury someone, but I do remember visiting my great-grandfather in the nursing home over in big city, next to the big, famous mansion which, to a seven year old girl, looked like the kind of place a princess would live happily ever after with her Prince Charming.

I'd never heard my great-grandfather called anything but "Little Daddy," not learning until after he was long gone to the hereafter that his name was actually Charles. One of the few memories I have of visiting The Holler when I was little, other than assorted funerals, was visiting Little Daddy in that nursing home. I remember sitting outside waiting for Ma under a big tree with Aunt Moses and holding my little baby cousin in my lap. There was a big fancy church across the road with a wrought iron fence and a bell that rang on the hour and half hour, the gothic style adding to the fairytale feeling of the area.

After Ma finished dealing with nursing home business, she came down to get me and she took me up to see Little Daddy. He was tiny and frail, just as he'd been at home, but Granny had died the previous year and with his daughter gone and no one left to take care of him, "the home" was the only place left for him to go.

I've always remembered how proud and grown up I felt when Ma let me push his wheelchair down the hall and back. I'd never been that close to a wheelchair before, much less gotten to drive. Our little hallway tour and sitting in a chair, looking out the window of his room at the tree below would be the last memories I'd have of Little Daddy. We returned to The Holler a short time later when he passed away.

Me, Ma and The Amazon moved back to the family home about 17 years ago, parking a trailer in the spot where Nanny and Little Daddy's house once stood. Whenever we'd go to Big City, I'd look for the nursing home where we left him. I'd been all over the neighborhood where the big pretty church still stands, next to the entrance to the princess palace.

Last year, after a string of anxiety attacks, crying fits of rage and just generally losing my shit on so many different levels, I went to the doc, got myself some crazy pills and asked her to recommend a therapist. I had to finally accept that I couldn't fix myself. The sexual abuse at the hands of my father for the first 13 years of my life, the fear, the death of his mother, my beloved Mammaw whom I loved so dearly and facing my abuser for the first time in 20 some odd years... it was all catching up with me.

The doc gave me the name of someone who specialized in childhood sexual abuse who, miraculously, was on our insurance. I carried her number around for two weeks before I got up the nerve to call. I had another anxiety attack while leaving the message on her answering machine. I didn't know how I was going to get through an hour of discussing it all when I couldn't even get through a 90 second phone message without hyperventilating and going off my rocker.

At first, it took a little extra medication, but I did get through it. Eventually, it became easier. The noggin doc went out of her way to put me at ease and before long I was spilling my guts about everything under the sun.

The noggin doc's office was in that part of town, with the big, pretty church. It was in a beautiful, old stucco house that she shared with an architect's office and was connected by a breezeway to an apartment building. Situated at the end of a dead end, I'd probably walked by the office a bunch of times when T.A and I went window shopping at the neighborhood antique shops a few years ago.

I'd been seeing the noggin doc for a couple of months when, pulling up in the parking lot for my appointment one Tuesday afternoon, it finally dawned on me. I asked her, "Do you happen to know if the apartment building next door used to be a nursing home?"

"Yes! It was still a nursing home when I first opened my office here."

The building itself looked much smaller than it did when I was 7. There's still a tree out front, but I'm not sure it's the same one that provided shade on that hot summer day when I sat cradling my tiny cousin, who would grow up to become My Trashy Big Boobed Cousin with the Lazy Eye. I thought it was sort of weird that I'd been trying to find Little Daddy's nursing home all this time and ended up seeing a therapist right there on the same property.

I took it as sort of a sign that I was doing the right thing.

I pulled into the parking lot at the noggin doc's office yesterday afternoon. I thought about how I used to sit in the truck and cry for 10 minutes before the drugs would kick in and I could muster the balls to walk up those steps. Lately the struggle had been for something to talk about. I was getting better.

As I reached for the door, I noticed something different on the porch, next to the gargoyle statues by the entrance to the adjoining offices. It was a wheelchair.

But not just any wheelchair.

It was old, with a high, wicker back. I don't remember what Little Daddy's chair looked like, but it reminded me of him. I told myself I'd have to remember to take a picture of it when I left.

My time with the noggin doc yesterday was much like every other, until it was almost time to go. That's when she gently presented the idea that maybe I didn't need therapy anymore. That I was okay.

I was a little surprised. I've never known anyone who had sought counselling before. I didn't know how long it was supposed to last or just how bat shit crazy I was.

We discussed it. She said some really sweet things to me. I cried a little. When it was all said and done, I told her, "I think I'll be okay."

"You are okay," she corrected.

After hugs and thank yous I hurried out the door, fearing the snot churning ugly girl cry that I felt coming on. I paused for a second when I got outside. The wheelchair was gone.

I got in the truck, popped my REO Speedwagon CD in the stereo and thought for a moment. I'd often wondered over the past year, what had happened to Ma to make her like she is. The noggin doc and I had discussed before how Ma had probably suffered abuse when she was a girl. In a way, I felt like the Universe was showing me I'd come full circle and maybe, just maybe, the cycle of generations of abuse had finally been broken.

And maybe that wheelchair on the porch was Little Daddy's way of letting me know he was watching over me all along.

I promise to return to my regular nonsense with my next post, I hope ya'll aren't too disapointed with the lack of haha today. I wanted to share this milestone with those of you who've been with me since I began, the ones who've stuck by me over the past year and those who have only just discovered Hidden Mahala.

REO Speedwagon serenaded me with my new mantra on the way home:


So if you're tired of the same old story
oh, turn some pages
I will be here when you are ready
to roll with the changes



Keep on rolling, ya'll.

Save 15% on flowers & gifts inspired by Martha Stewart for 1-800-Flowers.com! enter code MARTHA47 at checkout

Health Care Reform, Glumdaclitch and Knuckle Dragging Neanderthals

Let's recap this lovely Monday morning thus far, shall we?

I was running a little late on the way in, but I stopped at the campground store for a biscuit, throwing caution to the wind and risking being a few minutes tardy. Their deli has been closed for a couple of weeks for renovations and I was jonesin' for a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit. I walked in and Marty, the tattooed manager with ginormous hooters that excite our GM so much that sometimes he shows up with his little white biscuit bag and his eyes glazed over like a teenybopper, took one look at me and announced, "There will be no more biscuits. It sucks."

"Ever?" I asked, with a twinge of hope in my voice.

"Never, ever," she answered.

I may or may not have made a pouty face as I shuffled over to the rack holding the assortment of packaged pastries.

I made it to the office, only 3.5 minutes late, sat at my desk and, once situated, ripped into my Texas Cinnamon Roll. I sniffed it. I grimaced. When you can SMELL that a pastry is stale, that's pretty bad. I began to pull it apart, realizing it was hard as a rock and sighed as I rolled it up in the packaging and tossed it in the trash. Breakfast ended up being a pack of crackers from the company vending machine.

Next door to my cubey, Cousin Frankie was chatting with Lulu about his latest ailments. He's had the shingles and been down with his back. Now he's dragging his leg behind him. It all seems to be related but no one knows for sure what's going on. He was griping about our worthless health insurance and I chimed in with my two cents worth. It seems we pay every month for the privilege of saying we're covered, but that's about the extent of our benefits.

Except for the noggin' doc. I am thankful that I only have to pay a $30 co-pay to have my head examined.

Anywho..

I was caught off guard, but not really surprised when Cousin Frankie and Lulu's discussion of health insurance made it's way down the darkened path to Obama's health plan helping nobody but "them n*ggers and Mexicans."

I took a deep breath, turned the volume up on the radio and quietly talked myself down from my mental clock tower before I said a whole bunch of stuff I'd regret later.

I don't do politics. I don't know the details of the recently passed health care reform bill, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't specify specific races or nationalities. People, especially ignorant knuckle dragging neanderthal people, will hop on any bandwagon they can twist into a reason to spout hatred and discontent.

Please don't misunderstand. There are perfectly rational individuals without a trace of racism in their blood who oppose specifics of the bill for perfectly logical reasons. My anger isn't due to a difference in opinion over the passing of a bill. My blood boiling, venom spewing pissedoffedness (heh.. I made a new word) is over the gaul of some people to use ANYTHING as an excuse to attack groups other than those they personally identify with.

The really fun part? Cousin Frankie is, indeed, my distant cousin. We're both descended from a common ancestor, one listed on some census forms as "Glumdaclitch" who was rumored to be Cherokee. I think she was probably Melungeon. I'm still working on finding out how she was named after a character from Gulliver's Travels. In any case, she wasn't "white." That whole side of the family tree is peppered with dark skinned kinfolk of assorted racial backgrounds.

If I had the cajones, I'd point all this out to both Frankie and Lulu, my other distant cousin on that side.

I tried in vain to block it out, as they went on about people getting welfare checks and food stamps (both of which I've had to use in the past.) I think my favorite quote came from Lulu, who was telling Frankie about a girl she knew on assistance, "She's Mexican but she was born here."

I'm pretty sure that makes the girl in question an American.

I'm not really any better than they are, I suppose,  because I sit here, radio blaring, lips clenched, beating the hell out of my keyboard instead of speaking up.

And I'm ashamed.

Forgive me.

Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

Save $15.00 when you sign up for FIJI Water delivery with code LS15. Valid March 19-May 9.

Elvis Presley's Head Live at the Flea Market

*clickable for a closer look*

What the hell happened to spring? It lasted A DAY. It's been hotter than Texas Pete on a jalapeno up in this holler.

I've been enjoying the three day weekend, lounging around, eating bonbons... yeah okay. Ya'll know that's a lie. I'd planned on getting the carpets cleaned on Saturday, but when The Amazon's plans to meet her college roommate over in Big City for lunch fell through, I knew she was disappointed, having been chomping at the bit to get out of the holler for a day, so we loaded up in Jolene and headed to the new flea market up by Wally World.

My hillbilly blood must run deep, because I love me a good flea market.

Being new, the parking lot wasn't exactly packed and there were a few empty spaces where vendors should be, but there was still plenty to take in. When I spotted the Elvis bust (pictured above) I stopped to get a closer look.

Ma loves Elvis.

A sweet, southern lady, who'd had an unfortunate run in with Miss Clairol 51D, Black Velvet, appeared, grinning from ear to ear.

"You like Elvis??" she asked.

"My mom does.." I answered. But before I could finish, a man's voice was heard from the back corner of the shop.

"Make him sing for 'em baby," he said.

The sweet, southern lady grabbed a microphone and started pushing buttons, her husband giving instructions from his place on the purple Victorian love seat, with the mannequin head decorated as a 1920's flapper permanently affixed to the head rest.

His wife giggled impishly, pushing the black velvet hair away from her face as Elvis' eyes began to move, his facial expression changed and he broke out into a shortened version of "Hound Dog." It looked real. It was kinda creepy.

I looked at T.A. "Do you know how much fun we could have with Ma if we had this?" I asked.

T.A. grinned.

"We could sneak it in her bedroom while she's asleep.." I plotted.

"Oh when my wife brought him home," her husband began, "I came in the door after work and she said, 'Hunny, I have some bad news fer ya. I done went and had an affair. He's still in thar in the bedroom. I sure am sorry.' And well, I walked in thar, not sure what to find and thar he was, blankets tucked in under his chin. She'd put pillers up n' under the blankets so's to look like a body, ya see. I thought she'd bought a whole Elvis, dint realize it were just the head, but I knowed she dint cheat on me. Knew that the whole time."

As he spoke, his mate walked over to the eerie, singing head and adjusted it's hair, taking great care to make sure everything was just right.

T.A., being a connoisseur of all things writing related, spotted an antique typewriter on the floor, momentarily forgetting about Elvis. I saw a twinkle in her eye I've not seen since the last time I went antiquing with my oldest friend's mom back in Chattanooga.

I think she's got the collecting bug. Time will tell.

We never did ask how much the sweet old couple wanted for their singing Elvis. I'm pretty sure it was more than the $20 I had with me and to be honest, I don't think Miss Black Velvet wanted to part with it.

After the flea market we stopped at Wally World to get a prescription filled. We can't be having me run out of my "crazy-pills-I-probably-should-have-been-on-for-the-last-30-years" drugs. We stopped at the I-mother-flippen-Hop on the way home. T.A. was bothered that I'd not been there yet.

So the carpets didn't get cleaned, although I did fix the vacuum cleaner and drag it around the bedroom. The garden didn't get hoed, dug or even walked in at all and I'm using the Easter Sunday get-out-of-housework-card for today, even though there's no hint of Easter in my house other than the empty Peeps box in the trash can.

Don't judge me.

There will be a roast later, if I ever get it thawed in the nuke-ro-wave and into the slow cooker. I know it's late to be slow cooking anything, but T.A. doesn't get off work until 7 or so and Ma's snoozing, fighting her dose of the crud.

I'm hoping for a peaceful Sunday.

*knock on wood*

Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!